


Cowed or Claimed

by whiskygalore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Omega, Dubious/non consent, M/M, Omega Dean, Public Humiliation, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24074923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskygalore/pseuds/whiskygalore
Summary: At Stanford, Sam receives a call telling him his omega brother has been arrested and classified as an abandoned omega. He has three days to travel to the backwater town where his brother is being held otherwise Dean will be shipped off to the nearest Omega farm. Having hightailed it there, Sam has no option but to fuck, claim and collar his brother in front of the local judge (and a courtroom full of nosy townsfolk) otherwise they won’t let him leave with Dean.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 287
Collections: SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020





	Cowed or Claimed

  
He makes it by the skin of his teeth. The town is in the asscrack of bumfuck nowhere and he got lost twice before he found it. Fuck only knows what Dean was doing all the way out here in the first place.  
  
“Didn’t think you were gonna make it in time,” the deputy says, looking Sam up and down. “Farmer Singer was sure he was gonna have a new cow to add to his herd. Damn shame if you ask me; the old boy makes the best milk for miles and your brother looks like he’s a real sweet ‘un.”  
  
Sam slams his documents down on the desk and tries not to growl. “Everything’s here. Where’s my brother?”  
  
“Don’t you worry non. He’s safe. We’ve been keeping him in the ‘mega shed out back. Couldn’t risk anyone getting a taste of him before his court date, could we? That would just be plain irresponsible.”  
  
The omega shed. Damn backwater towns. This is why Sam moved out to Cali, where omegas aren’t treated like mindless animals. God only knows why Dad let Dean come anywhere near this neck of the woods. This whole fucking state is an omega hellhole.  
  
“I want to see him,” Sam says, straining to keep his voice calm. He can’t afford to aggravate the officials here, not until he has Dean safely signed over to his care.  
  
Tapping his fingers on the paperwork that Sam slapped in front of him, the deputy grins, showing off the missing gaps in his squint teeth. “You’ll see him soon enough, son. Judge Turner’s hearing his case in an hour. Just take a seat and give me a chance to read through your documents here. Need to make sure all your i’s are dotted and t’s crossed before we hand over an unclaimed bitch. Don’t want to make no mistakes, do we?”  
  
Sam scowls but complies wordlessly, stomping across the room and throwing himself down on the uncomfortable bench seat opposite the desk. He doesn’t take his eyes off the deputy as he slowly reads through Sam’s paperwork. It’s all in order. Sam persuaded one of his professors to check it out before he left. He figured the asshats here would try and find a way to keep hold of his brother.  
  
The deputy certainly doesn’t look overly impressed when he can’t find anything wrong with the documents. And when he finally stamps them and hands them back over to Sam it’s with a grudged acceptance.  
  
“Courthouse is next door,” he says, sour as lemons. “Should find your bitch there.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sam says, although the words are bitter on his tongue. He’s on his feet, crossing the distance between them and grabbing the file from the deputy’s hand, fast enough to make the guy flinch.  
  
“You know, Singer would give you a good price for your ‘mega if you decided to leave him. Pretty cow like that, seems a mite selfish to keep him all to yourself.”  
  
Sam snarls, but somehow, just barely, manages to refrain from punching the fucker in his face. That’s probably what the deputy’s angling for; an excuse to keep Sam away from the courtroom long enough to lose his brother for good. Sam locked up in jail equals Dean turned into nothing more than a milk cow and breeder for the rest of his life.  
  
Sam promises himself that if he can find a way, once Dean’s safe and sound, he’s gonna come back here and knock the asshole’s squint teeth down his throat.  
  
The courtroom is full when Sam eventually finds it. The townsfolk are obviously out in force to watch Dean’s trial. Despite the throngs of people, Sam’s eyes immediately zero in on Dean. He’s standing at the front of the room with his back to Sam, facing the judge, stripped naked and hands cuffed behind his back. His ass is bruised and there are scars Sam’s never seen before etched across his shoulders.

“And you are?” The judge addresses Sam in the silence that’s fallen over the room since he stormed through the doors.  
  
“Sam Winchester, Sir,” Sam says, handing his file of paperwork to a court deputy who in turn hands it to the judge. “Dean’s brother and guardian.”  
  
The judge huffs and glares at Sam from under his dark eyebrows. “Cutting it fine, son, aren’t you?”  
  
Sam looks pointedly at the clock on the courtroom wall which shows the time to be five minutes before two. Dean’s appointed court time, Sam’s deadline, was fifteen minutes _past_ two. Judge Turner shrugs as though moving the court time up is perfectly normal. Sam’s too worried that the man’s going to make up some bullshit reason why Sam can’t claim possession of Dean to complain.  
  
Turner reads through the documents with as much enthusiasm as the deputy had. “Fine,” he concedes, eventually. “These look to be in order.”  
  
Sam allows himself a small smile, and a quick glance towards his brother who is staring intently at the floor.  
  
“So, I can take him home?”  
  
“Sure you can, boy,” the judge agrees. “Just as soon as we see you claim him.”  
  
God-fucking-damnit-to-hell.  
  
Sam’s stomach swoops. He knew this was a possibility. Came prepared for it. But, that doesn’t mean he wants to do it.  
  
“With all due respect, isn’t that a little old-fashioned, Sir?” Sam tries.  
  
Judge Turner narrows his eyes. “I know you ain’t accusing the law in this town of being backwards now, are you, son?”  
  
Frustrated, Sam’s hands curl into fists at his side. “No, Sir, but—“  
  
“Either fuck, claim and collar the omega or Bobby, Farmer Singer,” Turner nods towards a rough looking old guy wearing dirty overalls and a speculative smirk, “is going to have himself a new milker.”  
  
It’s fucked up in a dozen different ways, but Sam has no choice but to comply. If he doesn’t claim Dean for himself, the outdated laws in this bumfuck state make it the work of one signature for Dean to be claimed by the nearest Omega farm. And once Singer’s brand is burned into Dean’s hide, there’s zero chance of Sam legally getting him back.  
  
Sam knows Dean doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to be claimed or collared by any alpha. But, better Sam claiming him than a farmer. Better wearing Sam’s mark and collar, than being branded a cow and left strapped in a breeding stand to be raped by any alpha with enough cash to buy a ride, or milked for eight hours a day.  
  
“Fine,” Sam says, stiffly. “Is there somewhere private I can take him?”  
  
There’s a mean ripple of laughter around the crowded courtroom. Judge Turner grins at him, a sly glint of cruelty at the edge of his lips.  
  
“No, boy, that ain’t the way it works in my town. You say he’s yours? Prove it. In front of me, God, and these fine witnesses.”  
  
“Shit,” Sam mumbles under his breath. He’s literally got no good option here. He knows Dean’s gonna hate him whatever happens. Better just to get the whole thing over and done with.  
  
Dean’s been remarkably quiet this whole time and it’s not until the deputy stands back and lets Sam by that Sam gets a proper look at him and can see why. There’s a bit in his brother’s mouth, tied slightly too tight around his head, red marks raw at the side of his chapped-dry lips. He’s also got a mean looking shiner and a yellowing bruise across one of his cheekbones.  
  
He’s still the prettiest omega Sam has ever set eyes on.  
  
“Gods, what the fuck did they do to you?” Sam says, reaching out to undo the gag.  
  
“Leave it on,” the judge orders, sharply. “I ain’t having an unrestrained omega in my courtroom. Not one as unruly as this bitch anyway. The deputies have had a hell of a time keeping him under control.”  
  
Sam just bets they have. Even now, when Dean eventually looks up to meet Sam’s eyes, Sam can see the pent-up rage in his brother’s face.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam says, quietly. “I’ve got to do this, though, you get that, right? There’s no other way.”  
  
Sam almost smiles when Dean rolls his eyes. Sam can practically hear the “no shit, Sherlock,” and “just get on with it, bitch,” of his reply.  
  
“Time’s a wastin, boy,” the judge barks. “We ain’t got all day. If you’re too pussy to claim him, I’ll let Farmer Singer take him now.”  
  
“I’ve got my branding irons in the truck,” a gruff voice rings out in the courtroom. “I’ll even let you have first taste of the ‘mega’s milk, Rufus.”  
  
Turner doesn’t even try to hide his smirk.  
  
Sam wants to turn around and punch the owner of that voice, and then he wants to shoot him in the face. Instead, ignoring everyone, he presses a kiss to his brother’s forehead. “I hope you can forgive me.”  
  
Dean looks him dead in the eye. No fear. No hate. No hesitation. Then he nods.  
  
Sam’s going to do this quick and dirty. Get it over with and get out.  
  
“Gonna fuck you,” he says, loud enough for the judge to hear. “Gonna show everyone who you belong to.”  
  
There’s no good way to do this. Not in the middle of a courtroom, and not when Dean’s wrists are cuffed behind his back. The easiest way that Sam can see to do it is to push Dean face down over a table. So that’s what he does. With one hand on Dean’s shoulder and another on his wrists he eases him down over the nearest desk. Dean doesn’t fight him. If anything he relaxes under Sam’s hands.  
  
Sam’s never fucked an omega before. He knows a lot of alphas think there’s nothing better than sinking their knot inside a heat-riddled omega, but Sam’s never found that kind of questionable consent a turn on. And, in honesty, there’s only ever been one omega that he’s been attracted to. And that omega was adamant, since the day he presented, that he’d cut off anyone’s balls that tried to knot him. Dean’s used suppressants and blockers ever since. The only people who even knew he was an omega were Sam and Dad.  
  
He’s clearly not on suppressants now. Sam can smell the sweet undertone of omega in the sweat that’s shining at the base of his neck. Without thinking he licks it up in one broad stroke. He immediately feels like an asshole for doing it, but there’s something addictive about the taste of his brother. Something that makes his Alpha hindbrain kick in. And his dick stir in his pants.  
  
Trying to forget about their audience, Sam runs his hands down his brothers naked back, cautious of the bruises and scars that mar his skin. Dean shivers under his touch, and Sam mouths at the back of his neck. “Try and relax, Dean,” he mutters, low, under his breath. “It’s just you and me now. Forget there's anyone else here.”  
  
Dean snorts as if to say ‘you relax when you’re stark naked and about to get fucked in a room full of skeevy assholes,’ and then exhales around the bit-gag in his mouth and pushes his ass up against Sam’s crotch in a signal that Sam reads as ‘just get the fuck on with it already.’  
  
They might not have seen each other for two years but Sam and Dean will always be the two weird loner kids who’ve never needed words to communicate.  
  
There’s a sachet of lube in Sam’s back pocket, because, as Dean would say, he’s a goddamn boy scout, and he knew he had to be prepared for the worst. Shoving everything and everyone else out of his mind, he tears the packet open with his teeth, squeezes the lube out into his hand, and down his brother’s ass. With single-minded focus, he ignores the stirring of his dick and concentrates on opening Dean up.  
  
Sam tries to stay clinical, to pretend fingering open his brother is a chore rather than a teenage wet dream come to life, but despite the circumstances, despite the murmurs around the courtroom, he can’t deny how hard he’s gets when he slides his first finger inside Dean.  
  
Dean’s tight at first, virgin tight, but his hole opens around Sam’s finger beautifully, sucks him in like he belongs there. Like Sam should have done this years ago. One finger quickly becomes two. The heat of Dean’s insides swallowing them up, squeezing around them.  
  
“Get on with it, boy. He won’t break. He’s made for this.”  
  
Sam recognises Singer’s voice.  
  
“You want me to show you how it’s done, pup?”  
  
Sam growls. Can’t help himself. His fingers sink deep into Dean’s hole as his other hand grips tight around his brother’s waist.  
  
“Gonna kill them all,” he snarls in Dean’s ear. “Gonna come back here and shoot them in their fucking beds for even thinking about touching you.”

He’s not sure what’s happening at first when his fingers start to slap in and out of his brother’s hole quicker, easier. Then he realises with a start that Dean’s leaking slick. And Christ, if that isn’t a sure sign that Dean’s off his suppressants, nothing is.  
  
The alpha in Sam wants to crow. He made his brother slick up. He’s been dreaming about that since before he even popped his knot. Dreamed of Dean wanting Sam as much as Sam wants Dean.  
  
The scent of Dean’s slick, the feel of it coating his fingers goes straight to Sam’s head. Or rather, straight to his dick. He’d planned on taking longer to ease Dean into this. To make sure his hole was open and ready and he wouldn’t get hurt. But between his own instinct to fuck his horny omega before someone else tries to, and the restless mutters around them, Sam’s best intentions are quickly abandoned.  
  
Sam had worried, when he’d given thought to how this might play out, that he’d not be able to fuck his brother on demand. That the stress of the situation, that Dean’s unwillingness, would cause him some performance anxiety.  
  
But now, with Dean smelling so fucking incredible and writhing like a slut on just Sam’s fingers, when he undoes his jeans, and finally takes himself in hand, Sam can honestly say he’s never been harder in his life. His balls are already heavy, his knot about two minutes away from popping and he’s not even inside his brother yet.  
  
He wishes more than anything he wasn’t fucking Dean under these circumstances, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t in goddamn heaven when he slides his dick inside his brother’s slicked hole.  
  
Dean groans around his gag, but it’s not pained; it sounds more like relief to Sam’s ears. Sam tries to take his time, to let his brother adjust to the sheer size and weight of an alpha dick stuffed inside his hole, but Dean’s having none of it. He shoves his ass back, fucking himself down on Sam’s dick like he’s desperate for it. And that pretty much ruins any restraint that Sam has.  
  
The sound of his balls slapping against his brother’s ass, of Dean’s muffled grunts, echoes through the courtroom. If Sam could look away from Dean for a second, if he wanted to, he knows he’d see a mixture of jealousy and lust on the face of every person here. He can feel their glares burning into his back. He doesn’t care. He _wants_ them to see now. Wants them to know that Dean is his. That no one else gets to touch him.  
  
It’s only minutes before Sam’s knot starts to swell, and the instinct to claim itches in every sense he has. He shoves Dean down flat across the desk, grab’s his asscheeks and drags them apart so he can watch his dick sliding in and out of his brother’s hole. It’s the dirtiest, hottest, thing he’s ever seen. And he’s seen plenty of omega porn. There’s slick smeared across Dean’s ass, dripping down the inside of his thighs. His tight little hole leaking so much slick that his body is practically begging for a knot.  
  
Sam’s not going to disappoint. He hitches one knee up onto the desk beside Dean, leans over his brother’s back and slams his dick in so hard, so deep, he hopes Dean can taste it.  
  
He’s all alpha now. Only one thought in his sex-fevered brain: mate and claim.  
  
Four, five thrusts, the desk screeching across the floor, and Sam’s knot forces its way into Dean’s hole. Dean throws his head back and lets out a high pitched whine from the back of his throat as his orgasm hits him, his hole clenching around Sam’s knot so fucking hard that he almost blacks out.

Sam’s never felt anything like it. Never come so hard in his life. Pulse after pulse of pleasure rushes through him, lighting up his senses and flaming his urge to claim.  
  
His teeth are puncturing the skin in the crook of Dean’s neck before he makes the conscious decision to bite, before he even has a chance to warn Dean.  
  
The taste of blood pooling on his tongue and dripping down the corner of his lips should be gross but all Sam feels is satisfied. And complete. Maybe for the first time in his life. Like he’s been chasing after something, or someone, all this time and now he’s finally found it.  
  
Dean goes lax underneath him, whimpering softly as Sam licks the blood from his neck. He’s fine, Sam can tell. Sated and relaxed thanks to the hormones flooding his body.  
  
He’s so caught in the moment, in admiring the mating bite in his brother’s neck and enjoying the last ripples of his orgasm it takes Sam a while to notice that the courtroom has emptied out considerably. There are only a handful of people left watching them, including the judge and Singer.  
  
Sam growls as Singer approaches, his fingers digging possessively into his omega’s skin.  
  
“Relax, alpha,” Singer says. “The bitch is all yours now. Can’t say I ain’t disappointed. Beautiful cow like him, he’d have made me a small fortune.”  
  
“Fuck off,” Sam snarls, his brain too fogged by sex and base instinct to come up with a clever put-down.  
  
“Make sure you collar and register your ‘mega before you leave town,” Judge Turner reminds him. “Wouldn’t want anybody accidentally mistaking him for a runaway. We got a strict policy on runaways in these parts, don’t we, Bobby?”  
  
“I’ve got one or two of them locked up in my milking stands as we speak,” Singer laughs. “Didn’t you knock up one of them yourself, Rufus?”  
  
“Sure did,” the judge grins and casts one last longing glance at the omega. Sam’s fingers dig into Dean’s waist hard enough to make his fucked-out brother whimper in complaint. “He wasn’t near as pretty as this one though. Damn, I was looking forward to breeding this bitch.”  
  
Sam growls. Part of him wishes that his brother wasn’t still hanging off his knot because he really wants to punch these assholes.  
  
“Anyways,” Singer says. “I’ll see you around boys. Give John my best regards. Tell him I’ll be in touch soon. Son-of-a-bitch owes me.”  
  
And then the bastard winks as he walks away.

  
  
**_Finis_ **

_Thank you for reading! ❤️_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn_masquerade.
> 
> The background in my head is that John sent Dean here on a wild goose chase and gave Bobby the heads up. He’s sick of Dean pretending not to be an omega and he thinks it’s about time his boys got their heads out of their asses. He figures Sam will get there in time to claim Dean, but if he doesn’t, John will be more than happy to visit Bobby’s farm and watch his pretty omega son turned into a milk cow.


End file.
